We Could Be Good Again
by passionately-curious
Summary: Katniss didn't know the District 12 tributes during the 77th Hunger Games, and not for the first time, she didn't care. She was safe. Twenty years later, she found herself caring about the female tribute she had never met, and knew only by her last name - Mellark.


Katniss didn't know the District 12 tributes during the 77th Hunger Games, and not for the first time, she didn't care. It wasn't Prim. Or Rory. Or Vick. They were safe for another year. And it wasn't her. She had made it, had aged out of the system and survived her final Reaping. She hated to admit it, but a large weight lifted off her chest when she heard Effie Trinket call out the female tribute's name and it wasn't hers. She, along with nearly the entirety of her age group, were free. Or, as free as anyone in District 12 really could be. Free from the horrors of the Games. Free to live the horrors of adulthood in the outlying district.

Prim was clutching at her waist as soon as the tributes were escorted into the Justice Building. The Hawthorne children weren't far behind, knowing they were to wait for Katniss to find the rest of the clan. Katniss' mother gave her a stiff, cold hug. It was the most obvious affection the two women had shared since Katniss was a young girl and a clear indication of how distant the they still were. Hazelle gave Katniss' upper arm a reassuring squeeze and Posy, the youngest, smiled broadly, her front teeth missing.

Gale wrapped her up in a tight embrace, pulling her into his body. She could feel him shaking around her and she wondered if he was more nervous for her than he let on. They went out to check the snare lines that morning, like they had done since they first met, and while Gale was always a quiet man, he had been acting particularly off. She didn't question it, chalking it up to Vick's first reaping. Although no one in the District mentioned it, they all remembered, just three years ago, when the twelve year old girl, the safest of them all, was Reaped, with no one to volunteer for her. She lasted only a few days in the arena and died crying, while her killer laughed. The entire system was unfair but to send a twelve year old was the worst of the worst. It was a sharp, painful reminder that even the safest of them weren't really safe.

On their walk back to the Seam, where her mother was preparing a celebratory dinner for the trio, Katniss felt eyes on the back of her head. She glanced over her shoulder at the Merchant boy with wavy blonde hair and deep blue eyes watching her. The youngest son of the baker, Peeta Mellark, who saved her life so many years ago but never spoke a word to her. She offered him a half smile, he had survived the Reaping as well, and turned back, wrapping her arm around Prim's shoulders.

* * *

Katniss had no real skills other than hunting. And while it had kept her family fed until her mother got better, it was not a reliable source of income. And at the age of 19, freshly graduated from secondary school, Katniss Everdeen needed a reliable source of income. Options were limited for Seam girls. If she had any skill, she'd stay with her mother as a healer. It was Prim, however, who had the mind and the passion for that.

She couldn't sew. Or make anything useful with her hands. She wasn't smart enough to take on a teaching position. And despite her mother's lineage, there would be no positions for her in town. There was only one other option for those with no other discernible talents. Which is how Katniss Everdeen wound up in line with the other Seam children, and the handful of Merchants who were unlucky enough to have too many siblings ahead of them, for the physical test.

She was hardly the smallest of those in line, she was bigger than some of the men, and she knew she was strong. She and Gale had carried a buck at least a mile through the forest last year. But she was still a woman, and the mine supervisors preferred to hire men. Her mother was overjoyed that she wouldn't be sending her eldest daughter into the earthly caverns that killed her husband. But it still left Katniss with no way to make money and help support the household.

Hazelle came with the solution, Katniss could work for her doing laundry and cleaning homes for those who requested. There was nothing enjoyable or glamorous, but Hazelle gave her a fair share of the earnings and it kept her out of the mines. And it allowed her to still have her Sundays with Gale. He confessed his love for her and she rejected him, angered that her best friend seemed to forget her promise to never get married and have children. By the end of the year, he had started dating the sister of another miner. Katniss wasn't particularly fond of the other girl, finding her to be vapid and uninteresting but Gale was quick to remind her that she had no right to think such things about his love life anymore.

She stopped working for Hazelle shortly after and returned home, forcing herself to learn what she could from her mother and collect supplies from the woods. She told herself that at some point, Prim would get married and start her own family and their mother would still need someone around for emergency cases.

* * *

"The female tribute for the 94th Hunger Games is Astrid Mellark."

Katniss watched as the blonde-haired girl in a pale blue dress slowly walked up the stairs to where Effie Trinket, still teetering in those pink, six inch heels that matched her hair, was waiting for her. The girl's curls bounced slightly with each step and her bright blue eyes shined even brighter underneath the already forming tears.

Katniss recognized the surname of the baker, but she had lost track of the family after so many years. She still traded squirrels for bread at the backdoor of the bakery but it wasn't as if she and the baker engaged in small talk. She only knew of rumors, that the eldest was in line to take over the bakery, that Peeta had recently married a neighbor girl, that the baker and his wife were expecting to be grandparents again. But even during the Reapings, she stayed close to her mother and sister, away from where the Merchants often stood.

Sometimes, when she would walk through town, she could swear she felt the youngest watching her. If he was, he hid himself well, as she was never able to spot him.

Astrid stood next to Effie, but Katniss wasn't listening to the male tribute's name being called. Instead, she scanned the crowd of adults, searching for the girl's father. Her eyes latched onto his instantly, just as they had after their last Reaping. The last time she saw Peeta. He was not so different now; older, of course, but still the same boyish features she remembered. His eye line was broken when a crying blonde woman leaned against him for support. Katniss fought the rising of her stomach as he wrapped one around around her and ran the fingers of his other hand through her hair. Soothing her. Comforting her.

Astrid Mellark was not just the baker's granddaughter.

She was Peeta Mellark's daughter.

The realization hit Katniss like a wall and her head began to spin. She hadn't seen him in years, never really interacted with him, but she knew him. She knew he was gentle and kind and friendly and...good. There wasn't a single person in their school who didn't adore Peeta Mellark and not just because of his looks. He was decent, the dangerous kind of decent that crawled under your skin and stayed there. The decent that didn't deserve to send his child to her death.

She felt like she was going to throw up. No parent deserved to send their child to the Games. But Peeta? She found herself wishing she was sixteen again so she could volunteer for the young girl. Volunteering in District 12 was unheard of; entrance into the Games from an outlying district almost certainly meant death. But she felt a strange akin to the girl, as if it were Prim's name that had been called.

She rushed home, ignoring the pointed looks from Darius for leaving the Reaping early, and bounded up to her room. She didn't have many possessions, and those she did have were of no great value. But there was one, a pin her father gave to her, that she wore at every Reaping. A gold circular pin with a Mockingjay in the center. She palmed the pin and rushed to the Justice Building.

The tribute rooms of the Justice Building were unknown to most of the citizens. You only went there if you were visiting a tribute or a tribute yourself. And there were only two tributes who survived to talk about the room. They were both gone now, the last, Haymitch Abernathy died a few years ago from liver failure. Katniss hid in a corner as the sobbing woman rushed past her. A few steps later, Peeta followed, his cheeks stained from his own tears. Katniss signed in as a tribute visitor and was allowed only five minutes with the girl.

Astrid was shaking when Katniss walked in.

"Who are you?" Astrid asked, quietly.

"My name is Katniss Everdeen. I...I knew your dad...from school."

Astrid nodded, a strange expression on her face. "Why are you here?"

Katniss kneeled down in front of the girl and held out her hand. "They allow you to take a token from your district into the Games with you. My father gave this to me when I was very young. He said that it would protect me and it did for many years. But I want you to have it, if you want it."

Astrid reached out and ran her slender fingers over the bird. "It's beautiful."

"Just make sure you return it to me after you win," she instructed, pinning it onto Astrid's dress. "Promise?"

"Promise."

* * *

Astrid made it to the final six. For being a small girl, she was impressively strong and adapt at hiding in the most obscure places - blending into the terrain around her. Peeta never looked more like a proud father than when he was interviewed, showing the same self-deprecating charm Astrid had during her interview with Cesar Flickerman. She was the most successful tribute from District Twelve in almost thirty years.

She died at the sword of a particularly vicious tribute from District Four, protecting the life of her ally from District Six. Before the hovercraft picked up the lifeless body, Katniss had shut off the TV and escaped under the blankets in her bed.

The next day, her mother knocked on her bedroom door. "Katniss? There's someone here to see you."

Standing in the shabby living room of her mother's house in the Seam was Peeta Mellark. And in his hand, he turned a gold circular pin with a Mockingjay inside, over and over. "They returned her belongings today and this was included." He held it out to her, his fingers shaking and his voice broken. "I believe it belongs to you."

Katniss hesitantly reached out for it, her fingers brushing against his. "How did you know?"

His smile nearly broke her heart on the spot. "You always wore it on Reaping Day."

"You noticed?"

"I noticed everything about you, Katniss."

She had never felt as nervous as she did, standing in the presence of the heartbroken father in front of her. Especially when he said things like that. He noticed her? He noticed everything about her? "Would you like some tea?"

They sat on the threadbare couch in her mother's living room, sipping from mismatched teacups. The silence was uncomfortable, but Katniss didn't know what to say to this boy – man – about anything. She knew loss but not like he did. This was the reason she never wanted children in the first place. But she knew telling him so wouldn't make any of this better. And there was something about him that made her want to make him feel better.

"She...Astrid...she looked beautiful. During...her interview."

This made Peeta smile. "She looked just like her mother."

"No!" Katniss exclaimed. The look he gave her made her cheeks flush brightly. "I mean...she...she definitely looked like you. Your..."

He thanked her, saving her from her current embarrassment.

"How is...how's your wife?" The words make Katniss' throat dry out for some unknown reason.

"She's not doing well," he admitted, setting his teacup down and running this hands through his hair. "She hasn't been well since Astrid was -"

"Reaped?" Katniss asked, remembering the woman who collapsed against him that morning. "She wasn't interviewed."

He shook his head. "No. She wasn't feeling well when the cameras were there. She's just been a ghost, honestly, since then. I don't know if she's even processed that Astrid isn't coming home."

Katniss set her own cup down. She recognized the look in his eyes, the tiredness in his face. It was the same she had when her mother wasn't well after her father's death. She hesitantly reached over for his arm. "She'll get better. With some help, she'll come back around." She looked over her shoulder. "I could get some plants for you, if you'd like. Some things my..." she swallowed, "my mother used. They may help."

His entire face lit up at the suggestion. "Really? Oh, Katniss, I...I couldn't thank you enough."

"Let me get some things for you."

* * *

Peeta Mellark made it a point to stop by the Everlark home every couple of days for the next few months. Sometimes just for more medicine, but most of the time it was to talk to Katniss. Sometimes they sat out on the back porch of the house, sometimes she took him into the meadow so he could sit in quiet, and sometimes they walked around the district, ignoring the looks from their neighbors. The more time they spent together, the more Katniss enjoyed herself. He never pushed her, but she found herself becoming more and more comfortable around him, sharing stories about Prim and the goat, about the damned cat, Buttercup, and even about her father. Peeta, on his part, talked about Astrid, the bakery, and painting, which she never knew he enjoyed. He'd point out colors in the sky or in the meadow that she never had taken time to notice before. It was calming being around him, he never questioned why she hadn't married; she didn't feel the need to defend her actions or thoughts to him.

Usually they kept the conversations light and easy; Peeta learned her favorite color was green and that she felt most at home in the woods and Katniss learned his was orange and that his brother was kind enough to keep him on at the bakery. Every so often something deeper would slip in, catching either one off guard for a second. The first time Peeta admitted what his childhood was really like, with stale bread and an abusive mother, Katniss clenched her fists in anger. When she told him that the bread he threw her ultimately saved her family, his eyes softened. "I should have done more," he said.

"You did so much."

His wife, Adelaide, was doing better, he told her. She was coming downstairs for dinner more days than not, she actually spoke to him again, but she still hadn't come to terms with Astrid's fate. "It's harder now," he admitted as they sat under a tree in the meadow, "because I can't talk about her or it'll set Adelaide off again. But it's all I want to talk about. I want to talk about how unfair it was that Astrid was only 15 years old when she died. That she was ever at that risk. That any child is at the risk." He picked a blade of grass and tore it into pieces. "I was so proud of her, Katniss. She didn't kill anyone, you know. She made an ally and stayed herself. I wanted her to come home not just because I wanted her home but to show..."

Katniss' forehead was furrowed as she listened to his rant. If it had been anyone else, she would have attributed it to normal parental grief. But there was something different about the way Peeta talked about the Games, and about Astrid, that meant something so much more. It was a different anger than what Gale used to shout on their hunting trips. "Show what?"

He looked up at her, a previously unforeseen fire blazing through his eyes. "To show that you could win without losing yourself, without being some pawn in their sick game." He shook his head and looked back down at the ground. "But I guess that's just too much to hope for."

Katniss was close to agreeing with him. There was no hope in their world, no matter what the Capitol said. Winning the Games didn't make any of it okay, only slightly more bearable from an economic point of view. She glanced down at the grass, running her fingers through the stalks when she ran across a dandelion. They weren't rare to find in the meadow full of wild flowers, but they held a significance to her that no other plant ever could. She plucked it and spun the plant between her fingers. Hope. "No, Peeta," she replied. "That's not too much to hope for."

She heard him chuckle and saw his eyes fixated on the dandelion. "I love dandelions. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses."

"That life can be good again," she added. "Your life will be good again, Peeta."

"Yours will too, Katniss."

* * *

Katniss heard the rumors about Adelaide Mellark and nearly dropped her game bag in the middle of the road. She planned on taking the majority of her catch to the Hob to trade for wax and string and cloth bandages, a trip that easily could have taken all day. Instead, she passed the abandoned coal holding shelter, slipped into the Merchant side of town, toward the house he had pointed out as his on one of their walks.

Out of habit, she knocked on his back door. She thought back to a particular trading day when the baker was busy and sent Peeta to help Katniss. The same feeling of nervousness swept over her as she waited for any movement from inside Peeta's house. The door opened slowly and she saw him curiously peek out. "Katniss? What are you doing here?"

His eyes were red-rimmed, his cheeks puffy, his hair a mess. The stubble on his cheeks made it appear as though he hadn't shaved in almost a week, even though she had just seen him a few days ago and he was clean shaven. She was so caught up in the dramatic change in his physical appearance, that he had to call her name a few times before she realized it. "Oh. Um...I..." She held up her game bag. "I wondered if you'd like some squirrel." She mentally kicked herself. They were friends now, they had shared details of their lives with one another, yet here she was, standing outside his house and unable to form a coherent thought. "Or rabbit. I...I have a few of those..."

"Squirrel is fine," he croaked, glancing over his shoulder. "I might have some fresh bread if you'd like to come in." He opened the door wider, allowing her access into his home. She stepped across the threshold and was surprised at how plainly decorated the home was. Every wall she looked at was bland and boring, so unlike Peeta himself. To the right of the kitchen was a dark hallway with three doors, all closed tightly. She wondered which was Astrid's and if it was still the way she left it. Or if they cleared out all the reminders of their fallen daughter. She was drawn to the hallway, her curiosity peaked. "It's not really worth a trade."

"Huh?" She turned her head toward him, away from the mysterious hallway.

"The bread," he unwrapped a cloth, revealing a warm loaf of bread. "It's not really worth a squirrel."

"It's not much of a squirrel," she answered with a shrug, setting her game bag down and retrieving the rodent.

He took it from her and turned it over in his hands with a chuckle. "Right through the eye. Like always." Her face must have indicated her confusion because he pulled out a thick skillet and continued. "When you traded with my father, he used to mention that your squirrels were the best because you always shot them straight through the eye. Never ruined the meat that way." He masterfully began skinning the squirrel on the counter down to the edible meat, which he seasoned and laid into the skillet. "Do you want some?"

"I really shouldn't...I need to get to the Hob..." She did want to leave. The heaviness that accompanied this empty house was too much for her and made her uncomfortable. It was that look in his eyes, the one that begged her not to abandon him too, that made her stay. "But I can go later."

They shared the squirrel meat and his fresh bread – which was more than a fair trade in her opinion – in silence. She wanted to ask, to confirm the rumors, but she knew the darkened house and Peeta's disheveled appearance answered the question.

"Adelaide moved out."

There it was. "I heard."

"She said there were too many reminders. I offered to try to find a new house but..."

Katniss' stomach dropped. "It wasn't just the house, was it?"

He pushed the last of the meat around on his plate. "She said every time she looked at me, she saw our daughter," he said quietly. "Said there was nothing that could be done."

"What a bitch."

"What?"

Normally, Katniss would feel some shame for using such a vulgar term for a woman she had never met, but she couldn't help it. "I just...my mother used to tell me that every time she looked at me, she saw my father. And it hurt, it killed her, but at the same time, it was a reminder of what she loved about him. It's not okay for her to abandon you just because she's hurting. You stayed with her, you helped her, Peeta."

"It's not her fault."

"But it's not yours either! And you don't deserve this!" Katniss was shouting at this point, her emotions raw and unprotected. Didn't that woman see the selflessness of Peeta? As she looked into Peeta's face, she couldn't image why anyone would desert him. "You deserve so much more, Peeta. You deserve..."

"Deserve what?"

"Just more." She bit the inside of her cheeks, angry at herself for not controlling herself. Angry at Adelaide for leaving Peeta. Angry at the boy from District 4 who killed Astrid. Angry at the Capitol for the Hunger Games. Angry at everyone who kept letting it happen because they were too afraid to stand up for themselves. She pushed back from her plate. "I have to go," and swept out of the room, leaving behind a bewildered Peeta.

* * *

He found her sitting out in the meadow, her back to him, facing the woods. Without saying a word, he sat beside her and held a freshly picked dandelion in front of her. She shifted her gaze to meet his and smiled softly. He weaved the dandelion through a strand of her hair and tucked it behind her ear, letting his hand trace down her cheek. The gesture was an acceptance of her unspoken apology. As the sun began to set, painting the sky Peeta's favorite shade of orange, their fingers brushed and pinkies joined.

"Stay with me?"

"Always."

* * *

**AN**: I wrote this in about two days as a way to force myself out of my writing slump. All errors in grammar and spelling and stuff is my fault. Thank you to my two amazing pre-readers, SwishyWillow and HoneyLime for your feedback. Be on the look out in a few weeks for a new round of PiP stories! Feel free to visit me at my tumblr (mitchesbcray)


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